A Letter for Mabel
by Cullens Incarcerated
Summary: Entry for the Cullens Incarcerated Contest. “Dear Em, I don’t know how to do this, either. I guess in a way, it’s easier for me than for you. I just have to survive each day. I just have to keep my head down and my spirits up. You have to go on living.”


"**Cullens Incarcerated Contest"**

**Story Title: **A Letter for Mabel

**Main Characters: **Rose x Emmett

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters or Twilight. In fact, Stephenie Meyer would hate this story.

**To see other entries in the "Cullens Incarcerated" contest, please visit the profile: http://www . fanfiction . net/u/2163960**

**AN/Warning: this story mentions rape, but not graphically or gratuitously.

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Babe,

The time we have on the phone is never enough. And I can never find a way to say all of the things I want or intend to. Sometimes because of time constraints, but sometimes because it feels so impersonal, knowing you are on a prison phone likely listened to by strangers. Sometimes because I still struggle with coping with your being there and my being here, with Mabel. So I've decided to write to you, even though I'm a shitty writer. I like the idea of you having something tangible of me in there with you. And I have a compulsion now to write to you every day, so that I can tell you all of the things that happen or occur to me throughout my hours and minutes without you that make me think, "Oh shit, I have to tell Rose about that."

For example, today Mabel and I were in the grocery store and she was helping me pick out food. When we got to the cereal aisle, she picked up a box of Fruit Loops—your favorite. She held them up and looked at me as if to ask whether to get them or not. I started to shake my head and then her little face fell. I couldn't fucking handle that, Babe. I threw that box of Fruit Loops into the cart with the rest of our shit. It will probably go stale. I fucking hate Fruit Loops, Babe.

Or yesterday. I was watching TV. I don't even know what the fuck I was watching. Some stupid reality shit. Some dumb blonde with a fake tan made some comment about how she's always wanted to go to Hong Kong to eat the sushi. God, I wish you would have been there. I could almost hear your snarky commentary in my head the whole time I was watching it. Which would be nice except that it really only makes me miss you more.

I kind of started imagining maybe you were watching the same trashy TV show where you were, with the other inmates. Fuck, Babe. What's happened? It's like that fucking cheesy song about hoping you're looking up at the same stars in the same great big sky. Except neither one of is looking at stars. And I'm just hoping maybe you're watching the same dumb fucking TV show. With other inmates. I can't believe you're in a place with "inmates." I can't believe _you're_ an inmate.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this letter to be a downer. I just miss the shit out of you, Babe. And it drives me crazy to think of you alone in there.

I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to raise Mabel alone. I don't know what to say to you. I don't know what not to say to you. Do you want to know about Mabel getting into a fight with another kid at school? Do you want to know she drew a picture of Rudolph except she made his nose blue instead of red? Or does that shit just make you sad that you're missing it? I don't fucking know, Babe. I think maybe the best thing I can do is be honest about how completely lost I am. I've never known how to be anything but totally honest with you. I'm going to enclose the picture Mabel drew.

I love you. Always.

-Emmett

…

Em,

I don't know how to do this, either. I guess in a way, it's easier for me than for you. I just have to survive each day. I just have to keep my head down and my spirits up. You have to go on living. I think maybe that's the tough part.

And yeah, I miss Mabel like crazy and I'm going nuts thinking about all the things I'm missing. And yeah, I'm going to cry every time I read one of your letters and find out that she's trying to buy me cereal or getting into her first fight. But I want to know that stuff. I have to know that stuff. Reading about it and missing it is terrible. But not knowing about it at all---that would kill me.

What was the fight about? Please make sure she knows not to be a bully. But that she should stick up for herself. God, I hope she wasn't picking on another kid.

I hung up the picture she drew, right next to my photos of you all. My cellmate says Mabel's adorable. I know she's obligated to say that, but let's be honest---it's true. She also says you're hot. Which I also know is true.

God I miss you. Tell me what the show is you were watching. I want to try to watch it in the common room. And you watch it too, OK? I don't care if I have to scratch out the eyeballs of some other bitch—I'll make them turn on whatever crap it is. They're always watching crap anyway.

Em, I don't even want to write to you about what it's like in here. It would just be a description of how we eat the same shit every day. We have the same routine every day. I just…I don't want to write about it.

I know it's far and I know gas is expensive right now and I know the budget is tight with all the bills from the lawyers, but…please…if you could find a way to make it up here for a visit. I know I shouldn't ask and I know you'll visit whenever you can. I just…I just want to see Mabel so bad.

I miss you so much I'm going to let that 'blonde' comment slide.

I love you. Tell Mabel I love her, too.

Rose

…

Babe,

The show is called "Reality's Bitches." Classy, right? You're going to love it. I looked up what time and what channel it comes on in your area. New episodes are 10:00 pm on Sundays on channel 58. But they show reruns every day from 3:00-4:00. And sometimes at night. There's this one bitch named Toya. You are going to hate her so, so much Babe.

Yesterday at dinner, Mabel announced that she doesn't like macaroni and cheese anymore. Out of the blue. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do, seeing as that's one of the few things she actually likes (or used to, at least) that I know how to make. That's probably why she fucking hates it now—I've been feeding it to her too much. I guess I will have to learn how to actually cook something.

Then she asked me what you eat where you are. It fucking broke my heart. In part because I didn't have an answer for her. She told me to ask you. I think she wants to eat what you're eating. Isn't that some shit, Rose? She's just like us. We're trying to match up what were watching on TV and she's trying to match up what you two are eating. She's definitely our kid, huh? Between this and the Fruit Loops, I guess food is something she's always going to associate with you.

You know we're gonna get up there for Christmas, right? And really, it won't be TOO expensive for us because I think we're gonna share a hotel room with your dad. I think he's gonna cover it.

I know Christmas sounds a long way off, but it's really just a few weeks, Babe.

I didn't tell you this when we talked on the phone because…well I guess because I wasn't sure how you would react and I'm a goddamn pussy. But I'm looking into getting a place up there, close to you. So me and Mabel can come visit more often. I think she needs to see you more often. Even if it is there. I think we can teach her to understand why you're there and why you're different from a lot of people there.

And yeah, money is tight right now and I'm not sure if I'm gonna be able to find a job up there that pays as well as my one here, but…I just think it's what's best for Mabel. Or maybe it's just that I miss you so fucking much and I'm being selfish. I don't know, honestly. But I'd feel better at least knowing you could see her more often just so you could tell me when I'm fucking up. I'm so scared of fucking up, Rose.

I love you. More every day, Babe.

-Em

…

Em,

Don't worry about fucking up. You are a great father. Every parent is scared about fucking up. And I know it's scary having to do it on your own now. And there are other people you can ask for help. Don't be afraid to ask for help. Do you remember that one time I was googling 'I dropped my phone in water' and the predictive text on google predicted 'I dropped my baby'? Just remember that. At least you're not one of those parents googling about dropping their babies. (I hope.) But also remember that you can call up Alice or Jasper or Edward or Bella if you need something.

Of course I want you to move closer to me and of course I want to see you guys more often. I don't want to get my hopes up, though, in case it ends up not working out. I don't want you moving up here unless you can afford to do it, Em. And don't sacrifice your career. We can't afford something like that right now.

Oh god, I can't believe I'm trying to talk you out of it. Deep down, I want you to come no matter what. I want you to move here tomorrow. I want to see your face. I want to see Mabel. Oh god, Emmett…

Tell Mabel I eat eggs and biscuits and sausage for breakfast. For lunch we usually have some kind of sandwich and a salad that is mostly lettuce. For dinner, there's always rice and spinach and some sort of unidentifiable meat. Don't tell her that I usually don't eat the spinach. Maybe you can get her to actually start eating that stuff. Hell, if you get Mabel to start eating it, maybe I will, too. If you want, you can tell her I eat macaroni and cheese, too. Maybe then she will start eating it again. Also, look on top of the refrigerator. I have a notebook there that has some old recipes I learned when I first started cooking. A lot of them are really easy.

When I went into the common room yesterday, they already had the TV on, but no one was really watching it. I mean, I guess they were watching it, but in the same zombie-like trance that any one watches or does anything in this place. After whatever show they were watching finished, no one even said anything when I switched the station to 58. It was great.

Oh my god, Em—you were so right about Toya. I wanna stab that bitch. And you know what? She was so obnoxious that everyone snapped out of their zombie trances at one point to start shouting at the TV. It was the episode where she went to the bar and threw her drink all over that girl that looks like Bettie Paige.

I'm not sure I _am_ so different from other people here. Maybe the only difference is that I grew up with more privileges than most of them. A lot of these women—they made the decisions that landed them here, but…in a lot of ways, society's failed them…failed them before they ever got here.

I love you, Em. I love you for being such a great father and I love you for being such a supportive husband and I love you for being you.

Give Mabel a big hug for me.

Love,

Rose

…

Rose,

Would you believe Mabel started eating spinach? I think it is your cunning that makes you such a phenomenal mother. God knows you gotta be pretty fucking cunning to get one past Mabel. But you succeeded. I almost want to tell Mabel just so she knows you're still mothering her from in there—that you're still very much a part of her life.

Like with those recipes. Oh my god, Babe—that tuna casserole may have saved us. Mabel loves that shit and you're right—it's really easy to make. Just you wait—by the time you're back here with us, I'll be a master chef. Maybe that's why all this happened. The universe knew I needed some time to shape up and be good enough for you.

Never mind. That was an awful thing to say. I just meant it as a way of telling you how amazing you are and how much I know I have to live up to. But there's absolutely nothing right about you being there and me and Mabel being here, without you. And for that, the universe can suck it. Fuck this shit.

God. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm starting to sound like fucking Edward. Just kill me when I get to that point, OK Babe?

I still consider myself the luckiest man alive.

Love,

Em

…

Dear Em,

Don't worry—if you ever turn into Edward, I _will_ kill you.

Ironically, _I'm_ about to get all emo for a second.

I've enclosed a letter for Mabel. It's not for you to give her right now. It's for when she's older and she starts asking questions. We both know that when she finds out the details of what I did that landed me here, it has the potential to hurt her more than anyone else. I tried to explain to her why I did what I did in this letter. I hope she understands. I can't say I'll blame her if she doesn't. However, at least you will have this letter handy when the questions do come, and she can hear it from me, and you don't have to worry about trying to explain it to her.

I promise I'll write more tomorrow. I'm just…in a dark place right now.

I love you,

Rose

…

Dear Mabel,

Ideally, I will be out of this hellhole just before you turn eighteen and I can say these things to you in person. But for now, I will sleep better at night having put them on paper and knowing you will eventually read them if I get struck by lightning or something. I'm also not naïve enough to think that you will be that old before you start asking questions about what I did that landed me in jail and why I did it. So I want this letter to be there for you when you start asking.

I just needed my little girl to know that… Gosh…. So much of this must be so hard for you. Especially right now, when you're so young, and there must be so much you don't understand.

I stand by what I did. But I'm still so, so sorry for what it's done to our family—to your daddy and to you, especially. It's not fair to you and I only hope that some day you can forgive me. I love you so much, Mabel. I agonize every day trying to reconcile my feelings about what I did that landed me here and what landing myself here has done to you and our family.

I cry every single night thinking about the things I'm missing. I had so many plans, Mabel. I was going to learn how to sew, just so I could make you Halloween costumes every year just like my mom did for me. I was going to be one of those "cool" moms. I was going to read books along with you when you were reading them for school. Actually, you know what? I'm still going to do that.

Oh god, Mabel. I was going to prepare you for your first period. I was going to teach you how to use a tampon. Don't worry—I'll talk to your daddy about this. I'll make sure he knows to butt out. I'll have your Aunt Alice or Aunt Bella take care of that or something.

I guess by the time you read this, that time will be long gone. God, I hope it wasn't awkward.

OK, I guess the only way for me to do this is to begin at the beginning. I guess I should tell you the story of how I met your dad. Honey, the beginning of the story isn't pleasant. But it has a beautiful ending, I promise.

When I was 21, I was raped. I was at a party in college. I had been drinking. Some guy pulled me into his bedroom. At first, we were just making out and it was OK. But then he wanted to take it further, and I didn't. Honey, I don't want to sugarcoat this for you but I don't want to go into graphic detail. It was awful. It was the worst night of my life.

When I left his room, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where my friends were. But even if I had, I didn't know what I would say to them. I was so ashamed. I just left the party and called a cab to take me to the hospital.

When I got to the hospital… I don't know what I was expecting. I guess I was expecting some privacy. But there wasn't any. It was crowded and a nurse shoved a clipboard with some paperwork at me and the waiting room was so crowded people were standing. It was the worst thing ever.

But then this big oaf of a guy stood up and offered me his seat. And it was weird, but I sat down. I'm not sure if I even thanked him. I was so… I was in a really bad place. I remember my hands were shaking as I tried to fill out the paperwork. And I was so overwhelmed being surrounded by so many people—none of whom knew what had just happened to me. And the lights were so bright and fluorescent and I think someone had vomited, because it smelled like that awful powder that they sprinkle over barf before they clean it up. At some point, the person sitting next to me must have gotten up, because the oaf guy was sitting beside me when I had a little breakdown, right there in the waiting room, and started crying. He waited a few minutes before he asked me if I was OK. I think he was scared and awkward and didn't know what to do. And I was so embarrassed. I told him I was fine, and I managed to stop crying but—oh my gosh, Mabel—I must have looked like such a mess. I remember he called me 'dude.' He said "Dude, I don't have any tissues…hang on." Then he ran to the bathroom and brought me back some toilet paper. And I blew my nose and wiped off my runny mascara and I think I finally fucking thanked him.

Then, he did the best thing anyone could have done in that moment. He just started babbling. About everything. About nothing. He told me he was there because his best friend's girlfriend had somehow managed to get herself thrown through a glass coffee table or something. I didn't know at the time that this was exactly the type of accident your Aunt Bella gets into _all_ the time. Your Uncle Edward was with her while she was being treating and your daddy was stuck in the waiting room with me. He started babbling about all kinds of other useless stuff…football, exams, his family.

When they finally called me back to be treated, it was weird. I didn't know what to say to him. I wanted him to know what a huge comfort he had been for me, but I didn't want to come off as clingy or weird. So I just thanked him and went back with the nurses. He wished me luck. He didn't even know what he was wishing me luck for.

There was one really nice nurse there that night. All these years later, I kind of wish I had sent her a card or something. She really helped me hold it together that night. She also helped me fall apart. She _let_ me fall apart. And let me feel normal for falling apart. But maybe the most important thing she did that night—when they were finished examining me and treating me--she took me back out into the waiting room and walked me right up to your daddy. See, she thought we were friends and that he had brought me there. She didn't know we were complete strangers. And before I could even correct her, your daddy interrupted her. He thanked her and promised he would get me home safe. When she left, he asked me if I needed a ride. He didn't assume I would let him give me one. And maybe I shouldn't have let him give me one. After all, he was a complete stranger. I had just been raped. It was probably stupid, Mabel. But I swear I knew in that moment I could trust him. And at that moment, I really needed a friend. And I don't know why, but it was easier being friends with strangers then than anyone else.

When he dropped me off, it was still weird and awkward. Mabel, we still didn't even know one another's _names_. When he parked, we just kind of stared at each other. I thanked him for what must have been the hundredth time. He smiled at me and made me feel like it was no big deal. He didn't know it was a huge deal, for me. Part of me wanted to get out of that car and never see him again. Part of me would always associate him with that night and what had happened to me, and I just wanted to forget it all. Part of me felt more secure leaving all of those memories of me, crying in that waiting room, with a complete stranger--someone who would never have to look me in the eye and see that version of me in their mind again.

But another part of me wanted to stay in that car with him forever. And I don't know if he felt that way too or if he was just a really nice guy who does good deeds for complete strangers, but he leaned over and grabbed a pen and piece of scrap paper from his glove compartment. He never said anything about it, but I think that was the moment he realized what had happened to me, because I nearly jumped out of the seat when he leaned over me. He apologized of course. But then he wrote down his name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to me. And he wasn't hitting on me, Mabel. When he handed it to me, he said, "Call me if you need anything." And he meant it.

I know he meant it because I _did_ call him when I needed something.

I called him when I found out I was pregnant.

Mabel, I was terrified. I was so young. I thought for sure my parents would kill me. I don't know what made me call Emmett. I think it was because he was a stranger. _My_ stranger. I wasn't at a place yet that I felt like I could talk to my friends or family about what had happened to me. I had just gone on pretending life was normal with all my real friends. I was in denial.

When Emmett answered the phone, I didn't even have to explain who I was. He knew. I told him I needed someone to talk to, and he suggested we meet somewhere. But it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have in public, so I asked him if he would come over. I don't know what I was thinking, Mabel. I must not have been in my right mind—pouring my soul out to a complete stranger. So he came over to my place. I shared an apartment with a couple of other girls then, but they were in class. We sat in the living room on the couch and I told him I was pregnant. He didn't say anything. He didn't ask anything. He just held my hand as I sobbed. Eventually, he hugged me. And it was awkward. Finally, I asked him what he thought I should do…because I was scared. But more than being scared about what I was going to do, I was scared about how he was going to answer. I didn't realize that until it was too late—until after I had already asked. I realized there was no possible way for him to answer that would be anything but heartbreaking for me. Or at least that's what I thought—until he answered. I still remember every word, Mabel. You know what he said?

"Rosalie, this isn't anyone's decision but yours. This is a choice you have to make for yourself. It sucks that you have to make it and that someone put you in the position to have to make it, but it sucks more when other people try to make it for you. It's not about your parents or your friends or me or whatever creep did this to you or the Church or the rightwing conservatives or the leftwing liberals. This is about you and what you want and what you feel is right for you."

That was maybe the most important moment of my life, Mabel. Because I think that was the moment I fell for your daddy. But also because that was the moment I had the courage to acknowledge that I loved you, and that I wanted you. And that there was no chance I was going to give you up. I had felt it from before I even knew you existed, Mabel. I knew it when I refused the emergency contraception they offered me at the hospital. But until your daddy said those words, I had been scared to embrace it. It was like that was the moment I was choosing you and, in a way, your daddy chose us. Of course, we didn't know then that we were going to be a family. But it didn't take long to figure that out.

After we talked about it, Emmett took me to the doctor's office that day. It was the first of many trips to the doctor he took with me. He went with me for my first sonogram. He was there when we found out you were a girl. He did manage to escape most of the bouts of morning sickness, but he would always call me when he was running out for Chinese food or milkshakes or something and offer to pick me up something. Sometimes I think he used food as an excuse to see me. I don't know what kind of college age guy wants to date a pregnant girl—he must have been crazier than me. I'm not even sure when we started dating.

It was a little over a year after you were born that we got married. We had known each other a little less than two years. At our age, it seemed young. But we knew it was right. And we both loved you, and we knew you deserved to have two parents.

Which is one of the reasons it's so heartbreaking that I'm in here now. I'm so sorry, Mabel.

I knew what kind of medicine I wanted to practice from the moment I started medical school. I had already applied and been accepted by the time I became pregnant with you. But I hadn't been sure about what I wanted to do until I found out about you. Mabel, you've given me so much, just by existing.

I wanted to become an OB/GYN. I wanted to help other women who had been through what I went through. I wanted to help them heal and I wanted to help them follow through with whatever choice they made in coping with unexpected pregnancies. I wanted to deliver babies. But I also wanted to give back to women the agency that rapists took from them.

So, Mabel, I hope you understand why I began performing abortions in my residency. Abortion certainly wasn't the right decision for me when _I_ had been the one in that situation, but I know what it feels like to have someone exercise control over my body. I know that there is nothing more disempowering—nothing that violates one's autonomy more than others forcing their desires or ideas on one's body. And I wanted to combat this for women regardless of whether they had been raped or not. I feel that forcing a woman to carry a baby to term is just another way of denying her autonomy over her own body. And I don't want any woman to have to live with the feeling that she has no control over her own body. I know what that feels like and it's the worst feeling in the world, Mabel.

A lot of times patients are scared, especially young ones. I found myself repeating to them almost the exact same words your daddy said to me when I found out I was pregnant. And Mabel, I have no doubt in my mind that it was the right thing for me to do, even when they chose abortion, because I was granting them power over their own lives and their own bodies.

No, "granting" is the wrong word. Your daddy didn't "grant" me any power. That power was always mine. Yes, it was a power that my rapist took away from me. But he only took it temporarily. It was still there, inside me, when I found out I was pregnant. Your daddy only made me realize that. And I hope that I helped other women and girls realize that same thing.

One day, a 16-year-old girl came into my clinic. She was three months pregnant and, after talking to her for a while, it became clear that she had been raped. I would be lying if I said I didn't see a lot of myself in this girl. And although many states write in exceptions to anti-abortion laws for victims of rape, it was illegal in our state to perform an abortion on a minor without parental consent.

I talked to this girl for a very long time. She was much younger than I was when I was dealing with the same issues, and it must have been much more difficult for her. She was far enough along that she was approaching the point where she would begin to show, but had kept her pregnancy a secret up to that point. She was worried about what was going to happen when it became obvious she was pregnant. She had cried in my office that day and I offered her tissues, but all I could think about was that she was so _alone_. She didn't have some big oaf offering her toilet paper. She told me she didn't want the baby. She told me she wanted an abortion. I didn't try to steer her toward giving birth or having an abortion or adoption. I asked her questions until I was confident that she had made her decision and that she had made it for her own reasons. Maybe that was me playing God. I don't know. All I do know is that she was confident that her parents would not allow her to get an abortion, and I felt it was not _their_ place to make that decision for her. Just like it wasn't anyone's decision but my own to have you. I wouldn't let her parents control her body the same way her rapist had. So I performed an abortion for her.

The same thing happened only a couple of months later. Except this young girl hadn't been raped. She and her boyfriend hadn't been careful when they had sex, and she had wound up pregnant at 16. I think this case is probably the one that got me into real trouble. Juries are much more sympathetic to women who have been raped and seek abortions than those who are pregnant because of their own irresponsibility. Still, I don't think anyone has the right to force a woman to carry a baby to term. It is _her_ body, and carrying a baby and giving birth hugely affects one's body. And yes, she and her boyfriend should have been more careful. But I don't think a youthful indiscretion that many, many people make means that one gives up something so fundamental as autonomy over one's body. I don't think anyone _ever_ forfeits that.

Her boyfriend came with her on both her visits to the clinic. I swear he was more scared than her. I'm not sure he ever spoke a word, and I thought he was going to throw up when he came into the room with her for the procedure. But he stuck it out—he held her hand the whole time. He reminded me a little of your Daddy.

My last case was a woman, not a minor. Sally. She was married and already had six children. She was 35 and it became clear after examining her and reading her medical history that she had an abusive husband. She begged me not to tell her husband that she was seeking an abortion. It's actually against the law for me to tell her husband that information without her consent, but she didn't realize that. Then again, it was illegal for me to perform her abortion, too.

I know that laws exist for a reason. I know that it's dangerous when people don't feel bound by the laws of their society. I know that that leads to people like the Oklahoma City bombers and even those that terrorize clinics like mine. But Mabel—I couldn't ignore what I felt was right and wrong in these situations. It's equally dangerous if not more so for people to simply accept society's edicts without question. I cannot accept that anyone can ever force their own agenda on anyone else's body.

When Sally came to me, she was in her third trimester. The thing that stands out in my memory about her is the sweatshirt she wore in my office. It was a plain red sweatshirt except that it had green patches sewn into it so that it looked inadvertently Christmas-y. As she spoke to me, she pulled at the fraying sleeves compulsively. In addition to raising six children, she worked full time, and her husband kept a very close eye on her. It was the first time she had been able to get away to come to the clinic, and she had had to drive over 150 miles just to get there. She had a number of reasons for wanting to terminate the pregnancy. However, I don't know that they were important in influencing my decision. All I really needed to know was that she did not feel in control of her body and that I could give that control back to her. So I performed a late term abortion on her.

It was illegal. And I understand why it's illegal. I understand why people don't like the idea of them. In fact, I think I understand that better than most people—because I had to actually perform one. It's not a pleasant procedure, Mabel. In fact, when I came home that night, I cried. I cried for Sally and that baby. But it wasn't my place to force my ideas on that woman. My only job was to help her once she had made a choice for _herself_.

Maybe I just tell myself that. Maybe I really am just a vigilante with a God complex, and I've projected myself and my own experiences on all these women. Sometimes that keeps me up at night, Mabel. Those people who argue that a fetus is a fetus and not a human? That's bull. Every fetus is a human. I just don't think we can require one human to give her body up to another. So yeah—maybe my ideas are skewed by my experience. Or maybe my ideas are better informed because of them. I don't know.

Actually, Sally's case is probably the one that got me into the most trouble with the jury.

After the police discovered that I had performed Sally's abortion, it didn't take them long to begin digging, and that's how they found out about the two minors.

I hope that you understand that although I do not regret what I did for those women, I do regret what it did to our family—to you. I've left your daddy as a single parent with a huge amount of lawyer bills. And I've left you without a mother. It breaks my heart _every single day_, Mabel.

And I know that when I say I don't regret what I did, the question you would probably ask me is if I would do it all over again, if given the chance. And it's only fair for me to answer that question for you.

I don't know, Mabel. If I'm honest, if I had it to do all over again, knowing what I know now—I probably wouldn't. I probably wouldn't be able to bring myself to help those three women because it would just be too painful. It has ruined my life. I wanted nothing more than to have a family with you and your daddy. Between the two of you and my career, I had everything I ever wanted in life. I was so happy. Now, to live every day knowing that I've lost that…_and_ that you will probably grow up to resent me…and that you have every right to—it's just so hard to bear. So it is perhaps selfish of me to say that I would not have helped those women had I known what would happen to us, but what I did was selfish, too. I made decisions that affected all of us. And now we're all paying the consequences. And for that I am so, so sorry, Mabel.

My one comfort is knowing that you have your daddy to take care of you. I don't know what I did to deserve him—I'm pretty sure I don't. But I do know that he is a wonderful and caring human being and the best father you could ever ask for. That night in the hospital, before we left, I asked him if he needed to wait for his other friends. He assured me that they would probably be there for hours more, that Bella always required hours of stitches. Mabel, I found out years later from your Aunt Bella that she and your Uncle Edward had already left. Your daddy had waited there _for me_.

I love you more than you will ever know. I am unsure about a lot of things I've done in my life, Mabel, but I will never, _ever_ regret you. I told you that the beginning of the story wasn't pleasant, but that the ending was beautiful. You're it, Mabel--you are the ending to this story, and you are truly beautiful.

Love,

Mom

….

* * *

**AN: I know this is really controversial subject matter. I did not intend for the story to take this direction. It's just the way the character took it. I'm not trying to offend anyone or stir up controversy. I just wanted to tell Rose's story, and Mabel's.**


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